


Green and Gold

by jayyxx



Category: The Goldfinch (2019)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Ear Piercings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Platonic Kissing, but its not platonic ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 03:33:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayyxx/pseuds/jayyxx
Summary: “Looks nice?” He asks, dark curls haloed around him, earrings gleaming in the low light, as though they are their own light source. Or maybe, it is Boris’ light they reflect. The same light that draws me in, like a moth.





	Green and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhh...... vegas days, theo finds his mother's earrings and gives them to boris. duh.

I’m bleary-eyed, hazy with drink, but not quite gone enough to realize Boris has done something absolutely _stupid._

“What did you do...?” I ask him incredulously with an eyebrow up. 

He’s sauntering into the room with a swagger in his step. Clearly, he thinks he’s gotten away with it, _whatever it is_, by the way he smirks at me and crashes into me on the bed. 

He throws me into a fit of giggles as he lands directly on top of me, digging his face into my chest and fingers into my ribs. His dark hair covers his eyes, but not his manic grin, when he finally brings his head up to look at me. 

Then, I notice the blood dripping off his cheek. The sight sobered me quite quickly. I grabbed his face in both hands, tipping his cheek to me, blood gathering in my fingers. 

The source is the bleeding is his ear, but what really stuns me is the shock of green and gold that hang from the source of his wound. My mother’s earrings _(“here, you take them, better you then Xandra... no no, I don’t... I can’t keep them”)_ have been shoved into the newly-punched piercing, and glow against his dark hair and fair skin. I thumb one, half testing how bad the damage is, and half seeing if it’s real. It’s real. 

I tip his face away from me to look at him hard. His grin hasn’t left; he’s entirely pleased with himself. “I wanted to be surprise!” 

I realize my expression must be a little dreamy, but _fuck,_ he’s crazy. He’s crazy and reckless and insane and _mine._ And he’s bleeding all over me. 

Huffing a laugh, I let my hands drop away. He falls to my chest, chuckling and holding me around the waist. He rolls us over, legs tangled in the sheets. I straddle his waist, hands on his shoulders. 

“Looks nice?” He asks, dark curls haloed around him, earrings gleaming in the low light, as though they are their own light source. Or maybe, it is Boris’ light they reflect. The same light that draws me in, like a moth. 

I grin back at him. “Looks nice,” I confirm. My hand has left a bloody handprint on his shoulder. I drop to my elbows. He runs his lips, open-mouthed, along my jaw. His breath is hot and so is my belly. 

With my hands now available, I hold his ears in each. He continues to kiss over my face: my nose, my chin, my brow. “How did you do this?” I ask, covering his offensive mouth with my bloody hand. 

He licks it, horny bastard, and says between my fingers “sewing needle.”

Grimacing, I touch them again. 

He reads my expression all wrong. “Potter? Is okay?”

I nod harshly. Even in my drunk fog, where every little thing Boris does makes my stomach roll, I recognize this feeling in my chest as more than just affection. 

“It’s pretty,” I say, half choked up, half giggled, twirling a dark curl around my finger. “Like a girl.”

Boris flushes at that _(“stop! stop! you make me go red!”)_ and swats my hands. “I’d be ugly girl.” 

“No,” I shake my head, voice low. I feel my own cheeks heating. “Pretty.”

I kiss him beside the ear and his hands make their way into my hair. I rest, half on top of him, thumbing the earring and wonder if I’ll ever get the courage to kiss him on the mouth. If he’ll ever kiss me on the mouth. At this point, the silly kisses we plant on each other mean nothing more than the slaps we randomly hit each other with. 

I wonder what my mother would think of him; if she’d understand.

I sit up and get off him. Sitting upright while he lays languidly beside me. I dipped a relatively clean shirt into the glass of vodka on the dresser beside us and work to rub away the blood from his cheek, my hand, his shoulder, his mouth. My mouth. 

I pressed the soaked cloth into where the earrings lay, half holding him down as he squealed and hissed. Soon they were clean and free of blood, the earrings shiny and kind against his sore skin. _At least,_ I thought, _these won’t turn his skin green._

I laid my head on his chest and watched the way my mother's earrings glinted in the moonlight. I was tired, and so I slept, but yet, in the back of my head, I could hear Boris repeating the word “pretty,” until he too fell quiet, like the world around us.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly didnt really want to post this but lets see how it does. i just read the part where he gives the earrings to k***** and thought hm. if only he gave them to someone more... appreciative!  
totally inspired by [The Sad, Dark ones and Jewels](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741654) by user WhyDoesEverythingHappenSoMuch which is honestly an iconic name.  
thank you for reading and kudosing. u are important to me  
visit me @ [ghostcas](http://www.ghostycas.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you'd like.


End file.
